


defend / retaliate

by rynleaf



Series: sxx configurations [2]
Category: RYC | Reverse Yi City - kevinkevinson, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Xue Yang's Potty Mouth (but let's be honest does that really need its own warning), there ARE significant plot reasons why they are together but thAT is not my responsibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynleaf/pseuds/rynleaf
Summary: Xiao Xingchen likes games.Xue Yang isn’t sure whether this is a product of their new life or something that has always been part of him, but he has never been one to indulge in in-depth introspection much as a general rule of thumb--he is definitely not about to start here and now, not when Xiao Xingchen looks at him likethat.“What,” Xue Yang snaps, for the sake of being contrary. Song Lan looks up from where he is sitting on Xiao Xingchen’s sofa. His eyes flick between them a couple of times before he blinks, sighs, marks his pace in the book he’s reading and puts it down.“I was thinking,” says Xiao Xingchen, “about ropes.”-in which Xue Yang is thoroughly wrecked. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén/Xuē Yáng | Xuē Chéngměi
Series: sxx configurations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719778
Comments: 30
Kudos: 454





	defend / retaliate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kevinkevinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevinkevinson/gifts).



> this fic is written for [kevinkevinson](https://twitter.com/kevinkevinsonnn)'s modern AU which is half-reincarnation half immortal bullshit, 100% fucking excellent, and it hurts the characters so good and puts them back together again even better I don't know what to do with myself. (I know. I read the notes.) 
> 
> [ Go, love yourself and check out Casey's art!](https://twitter.com/kevinkevinsonnn/status/1238209485824503808)
> 
> Song Lan, Xue Yang and Xingchen are together, there is a Good Reason for it which you will find out in due course. 
> 
> This is not that fic. This is just filth.

  
  
  
  


Xiao Xingchen likes games. 

Xue Yang isn’t sure whether this is a product of their new life or something that has always been part of him, but he has never been one to indulge in in-depth introspection much as a general rule of thumb--he is definitely not about to start here and now, not when Xiao Xingchen looks at him like  _ that. _

“What,” Xue Yang snaps, for the sake of being contrary. Song Lan looks up from where he is sitting on Xiao Xingchen’s sofa. His eyes flick between them a couple of times before he blinks, sighs, marks his pace in the book he’s reading and puts it down. 

“I was thinking,” says Xiao Xingchen, “about ropes.” 

_ That’s new,  _ signs Song Lan. Xiao Xingchen nods.

Ropes.  _ Ropes.  _ Xue Yang imagines it--black against Xiao Xingchen’s skin, criss-crossing over his pecs, pulling Song Lan’s wrists apart, curling behind his back, down to his ass, his legs. 

(Tight around his own ankles, his arms, his, thighs, his ribs, his--)

Xue Yang is not into this. He isn’t. He _isn’t._ But he’s also very, very ready to get naked and have his dick touched _now,_ immediately, two minutes ago, because Xiao Xingchen is looking at him like he’s seeing something fucking delicious and that is a look Xue Yang can’t resist, can’t forget, can’t forgive. _Ropes._

(Please tie me up.)

(Please touch me  _ now.) _

“Xue Yang? Thoughts?”

Xue Yang blows a raspberry, but the way Xiao Xingchen smiles at him tells him that he isn’t fooled in the slightest: it’s the kind of smile Xiao Xingchen doesn’t take outside the bedroom, which, in consequence, makes  _ stuff _ happen in Xue Yang’s pants that are at once squirmy, hot, and very immediate. 

Fuck. 

Xue Yang hates thinking of himself as someone who allows himself to be trained well. He is, all things considered, a reasonable man--minimal murderous impulses, a stable income, perfect grades. Is it really his fault that Xiao Xingchen-- _ this _ Xiao Xingchen, with the glasses and the shoulder-length hair and his huge, stupid fucking brain--grew up to be the curious and bossy type? Is it really his fault that Song Lan’s shoulders are massive and that he smells nice and that he can press Xue Yang into the mattress so well?

Xue Yang is a reasonable man, but he also has  _ impulses. _ And a dick.

He decidedly doesn’t whimper when Xiao Xingchen approaches, reaches out, drags a hand down his face and pulls at his bottom lip _. _

“Pretty,” Xiao Xingchen says. 

“You think that’s gonna work?” retorts Xue Yang instead of biting his finger which is a huge accomplishment in itself, thank you very much--but Xiao Xingchen only smiles, tilts his head to the side and reaches out with his other hand to beckon Song Lan closer. Song Lan gives Xue Yang a slow once-over. 

_ It is already working, _ he signs. 

Xiao Xingchen, the fucker, the bastard, the  _ asshole, _ darts his hand out to cup Xue Yang’s dick through his pants and nods in satisfaction, ignoring Xue Yang’s affronted, half-smiling snarl entirely. 

“You’re in a  _ mood, _ aren’t you,” says Xue Yang, grinning and breathless and pretending desperately to be unaffected by the whole thing. Xiao Xingchen spreads his stupid long fingers on his chest and pushes, once. 

“Bed. Now.”

“What’s the magic word,” Xue Yang protests, digging his heels in for the sake of it. 

Xiao Xingchen leans in _. _

“Song Lan’s mouth on your dick,” he whispers inches away from Xue Yang’s ear and Xue Yang blushes, fuck it all, he blushes and takes an involuntary step back, then another when Xiao Xingchen pushes him again. Song Lan laughs soundlessly, hooking his chin over Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder. 

_ You really are in a mood,  _ he signs.

“A mood,” Xiao Xingchen says with a nod and a pretty smile that fills Xue Yang with the urge to  _ bite, _ “a wish. A desire, if you will.” 

“You,” Xue Yang says and pokes him in the chest, “and your fancy vocabulary need to suck my  _ dick.”  _

_ “I _ will not be sucking anything.” Xiao Xingchen walks Xue Yang backwards inside his room, shoves him on the bed, then reaches into the wardrobe for the box. 

Of things. 

And stuff. 

Xue Yang fixes his eyes on Xiao Xingchen’s stupid pianist fingers as they unclick the clasps and lift the lid. Song Lan enters his field of vision, but doesn’t touch him. 

“Get on with it,” Xue Yang snaps, beginning (continuing) to feel--something. Jitters. His dick in his pants, definitely, for fucking sure,  _ god _ . He sneers, but Xiao Xingchen only smiles this cutting, cold smile as he pulls out a drawstring bag, closes the box and hooks the clasps back on with practiced ease--it sure is a sight, dainty porcelain figurine Xiao Xingchen in his bedroom with the peeling star map poster and the lone cactus on the windowsill, rising with hooded eyes and pulling the bag open.

The rope is red. 

“Really?” says Xue Yang dubiously. The effect is somewhat ruined by how fucking  _ horny _ he sounds, god  _ damn it _ .

His dick twitches. Neither of the others could possibly see it, but Song Lan gives him a knowing look anyway.

“What do you think, Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen steps closer and leans against Song Lan, “doesn’t this colour suit him?”

_ (Please.) _

“Wait a minute,” Xue Yang says, but he is stopped from complaining further by Xiao Xingchen’s hand on his mouth. He bites it. The hand pulls away. “Who said  _ I  _ will be the one tied up?!”

_ Who else, _ signs Song Lan with a toothy smile that makes his eyes crinkle in a very attractive way, and Xue Yang opens his mouth to yell again--except he finds it unexpectedly stuffed with Xiao Xingchen’s middle and pointer fingers and  _ that  _ is shock enough for him to momentarily shut up. 

"Behave," Xiao Xingchen says. 

_ Never,  _ signs Song Lan.

By everything that is good and holy in this world, Xue Yang shouldn’t be as turned on by this as he is. 

_ Thank fuck I’ve never been good, then, _ he thinks, licks Xiao Xingchen’s fingers and squirms at the sight of his widening eyes, the way he can see his fist tighten around the coiled rope, the way Song Lan’s eyebrows rise. 

“Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen says, stepping back and turning his chair to face the bed, “strip him.” 

“I can take my own fucking clothes off,” protests Xue Yang. But Song Lan steps between his legs, unconcerned, and gathers his flailing hands in a firm grip. “Okay, that’s hot,” Xue Yang amends. Song Lan narrows his eyes and transfers his wrists into one hand (also hot), then pulls his t-shirt up to his chin with a single, efficient yank. 

“Pants, Zichen, please.”

Song Lan nods, reaches down, pops the button on Xue Yang’s jeans with a flick. 

“Hey now,  _ that _ is--”

Song Lan’s fingers in his mouth,  _ shit, _ the combination of pressure on his wrists, on his tongue, his dick straining against his zip, it’s--

Xue Yang finds himself unceremoniously lifted, his pants yanked off, and himself thrown back on the bed with a speed that is at once impossible and very,  _ very  _ sexy. He briefly wonders whether sleeping with a dead man will have ruined him for all other men thereafter, because  _ fuck,  _ but then Song Lan is kneeling above him with the rope in his hands and Xue Yang is.

Xue Yang  _ is.  _

“Motherfucker,” he says. 

Song Lan looks down at him, expression neutral. Behind him, Xiao Xingchen smiles. 

“On your knees, Xue Yang. And be nice.”

“I’m always nice!”

_ Liar,  _ signs Song Lan. Xue Yang bristles, but obeys anyway when strong hands wrap arounds his shoulders and pull him up, lift his arms, discard his t-shirt. 

“Why am I the only one being naked anyway,” grouses Xue Yang. Xiao Xingchen crosses his legs where he sits on the chair. 

“So you can be pretty for Zichen and I. Now shut up and let him work. Zichen?” 

Song Lan nods and unwinds the rope, inches away from Xue Yang but somehow still towering over him. Xue Yang kneels and watches, sweating, knowing full well how he looks: messy hair, a fading bite mark on his shoulder, his dick, hard. There is something incredibly hot and terrifying about this. Song Lan looks down at him, eyes hooded, pupils blown, and Xue Yang can see his lips part around a soundless sigh as he thumbs his cheek, drags his left hand down his neck, his chest, his stomach. 

_ Kiss, _ he signs. 

“Go ahead,” Xiao Xingchen says. 

There are teeth. There are  _ always _ teeth when Song Lan kisses Xue Yang and Xue Yang loves it, loves the taste of it, the feel of it, the smell of Song Lan in his nose and his shirt in his fingers as he clutches him closer. Xue Yang rises, leans in, bites Song Lan’s bottom lip. Song Lan pushes back with a growl.

It is fucking  _ fantastic.  _ So much so that Xue Yang barely registers Song Lan pulling his arms back, his firm grip on his wrists. 

“Don’t move, Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen says.

Xue Yang, conditioned so well to listen to  _ that _ particular tone, freezes. 

“Shit,” he says, but stays motionless while Song Lan strokes down his shoulder, his flank, traces his neck with his lips as he shuffles behind him. He bends Xue Yang’s arms and folds his hands to hold his elbow, wraps a segment of rope around it and twists. 

It’s tight. 

Xue Yang wants to swear again, but what leaves his throat instead is an embarrassing keening sound--it’s a lot, this; him, naked, Xiao Xingchen on the chair with his pristine white button-down and his jeans that must be  _ straining, _ fuck, Xue Yang imagines Xiao Xingchen’s dick and can’t help another involuntary noise spilling out of his mouth while Song Lan twists and wraps another section of rope around his arms and bites Xue Yang’s shoulder, almost gently. 

“So quiet today, Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen says, leaning back and trailing one of his hands down his own torso. His fingers snag on his shirt buttons. 

“Fuck off,” snaps Xue Yang, but it’s toothless and breathy. Song Lan chuckles into his ear before biting his neck, drawing him backward and helping him lean against the pillows by the headboard. 

He then kneels back and looks expectantly at Xiao Xingchen. 

Which by all rights shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but here Xue Yang is anyway: he looks at his two best friends locking eyes with his legs spread around one of them and his dick  _ aching, _ watches as Xiao Xingchen signs something that he can’t see well enough but that makes Song Lan sigh, straighten, pull his shirt over his head and trace his fingers down his own neck, collarbones, ribs, hips, thighs. 

Fuck. Shit. 

“Can somebody touch my dick already,” Xue Yang hisses.

He knows it’s a mistake the minute the first word leaves his mouth. 

Xiao Xingchen smiles, and it’s a wicked, sharp thing. Song Lan makes a winded noise. 

“Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen says softly, “come here.” 

“No, wait,” Xue Yang scrambles to straighten but he’s pushed back into the pillows by Song Lan’s strong, square hands against his chest, then those same hands lift to make the sign for ‘stay’ (and  _ that  _ is a whole other thing), and  _ then _ Song Lan rises with the view of his jeans-covered ass unobstructed by the long t-shirts he likes to wear and Xue Yang whines low in his throat to signal his burning  _ need. _

He receives only an amused glance in return for his trouble. 

Xiao Xingchen is an evil, evil man.

“Damn it,” Xue Yang says. 

“Watch,” replies Xiao Xingchen as he draws Song Lan closer and kisses his stomach with a proprietary air. 

Song Lan signs,  _ Tell me what you want.  _ Xiao Xingchen pulls him down until his right ear is level with his mouth and whispers something. 

“Hey,” Xue Yang protests but he is thoroughly ignored as Song Lan nods, kisses Xingchen’s jaw and the spot behind his ear and his cheek and his lips, slowly and without teeth. Xingchen watches Xue Yang the whole time. Xue Yang wants a hand on his dick  _ so  _ badly. He squirms, squeezing his thighs together for some friction at least, but Xiao Xingchen narrows his eyes in his direction and clicks his tongue. 

“No,” he says. 

Xue Yang whines. 

_ Told you he can’t behave, _ Song Lan signs slowly and within view to make sure Xue Yang can read it and  _ wow, _ that is a low blow but also  _ fair-- _ Xue Yang frowns but opens his legs anyway, opens them wide enough for it to be obscene, and despairs at himself when Xiao Xingchen’s satisfied smile makes his dick twitch with pleasure. 

“Good,” Xiao Xingchen says, then exhales on a breathy moan when Song Lan strokes him through his pants, “stay like that, yes? Xue Yang? Stay like that and watch--oh--”

Song Lan hums, pleased. Xiao Xingchen arches his neck in a strategic move designed to drive Xue Yang  _ crazy, _ a tilt of his head that exposes the fading love bite on the underside of his jaw and the jutting edge of his right collarbone. It offers a perfect view of his slack mouth, of Song Lan’s lips against his pulse point. 

“You’re  _ so _ good at this Zichen, yes, oh--” 

It’s madness. It’s fucking crazy. Xue Yang watches, helpless, as Song Lan lowers himself to his knees and noses Xiao Xingchen’s belly, watches him zip his pants open, draw Xingchen’s dick out and mouth the head with deliberate slowness, just the way Xingchen likes it. (Xue Yang knows. He’s been there.)

“Yes,” says Xiao Xingchen.

“Fuck me,” says Xue Yang, eyes flicking between where Song Lan swallows around Xingchen’s cock and where he grinds his palm against his own.  _ “God.”  _

“You want this, Xue Yang?” Xingchen asks because he is  _ cruel,  _ “he is so good,  _ so _ good, can you--ah-- _ imagine, _ Xue Yang? Can you?”

“Yeah,” replies Xue Yang, breathless and tingling and very,  _ very _ restrained. He flexes his fingers on his elbow. The rope scrapes a little. “Actually, I can.” 

“So good,” Xingchen closes his eyes, throws his head back and rolls his hips to grind gently into Song Lan’s mouth. Song Lan hums. His left hand twitches where it presses against the fly of his jeans. 

“Zichen,” Xingchen says softly. “Touch yourself.” 

Xue Yang is going to explode right  _ here.  _

“Make it good for him,” Xingchen adds, and  _ that _ is just pure murder--Song Lan pulls off of Xingchen’s cock to give Xue Yang a backward glance, spine arched and muscles pulling as he reaches down and strokes slowly, mouth open on a soft exhale. 

“Jesus,” Xue Yang whines, “Jesus  _ fuck, _ I’m going to die.” 

It’s just his luck, this. Xue Yang flexes, once again, against the rope which doesn’t budge (hot), and watches Song Lan and Xingchen with their hands around their cocks and Song Lan’s head resting on Xingchen’s thigh and Xingchen’s free hand carding through Song Lan’s hair, brushing the sweaty dark strands back from his forehead. It is unfair. It is fucking  _ beautiful.  _ It makes Xue Yang’s mind slip from it’s usual prickly sharpness to a quieter place that is at once terrifying and a comfort. 

_ Look at them, _ the Xue Yang from the other time whispers to the Xue Yang of now, bitter and poisonous and yearning.  _ Look at them, how they  _ **_belong._ **

_ Shut up,  _ the Xue Yang of now says.  _ They are mine, now. _

And they are. They are. Xiao Xingchen smiles at Xue Yang, eyes half-lidded and heavy and he whispers something to Song Lan who looks back too, looks at Xue Yang with fondness and desire and  _ that _ is just too much, enough for Xue Yang to squirm and twist and open his legs wider and growl, low in his throat: 

_ “Please,  _ Xingchen you asshole, I--”

“Can’t you ever ask nicely,” Xingchen says stretching languidly, still mostly dressed, on his desk chair. Song Lan hums and squeezes his fingers around his own cock tighter. 

“I would like to humbly request to be fucked,  _ finally,” _ Xue Yang all but yells, and that earns a narrow stare and a knife-edge smile that doesn’t exactly  _ help, _ but is at least gratifying. Xingchen taps his lips.

“Are you close?”

_ “So fucking close.”  _ Xue Yang thinks he might come if either of them so much as  _ look _ at his dick hard enough.  _ God.  _

“Isn’t that nice, Zichen,” Xingchen says to Song Lan because of course he does. Song Lan nods. 

He signs,  _ Pretty.  _

Xue Yang bristles. Blushes. Squirms some more. 

“Are you two  _ done _ talking about me like I’m not here?”

“Would you prefer us to be closer?” Xiao Xingchen asks. Xue Yang rolls his eyes. 

_ Will he ask, _ Song Lan signs. Xingchen leans in and presses a kiss against his forehead which is,  _ fuck,  _ Xue Yang is so close to begging but also--no--dignity.

(What the  _ fuck _ is he thinking about dignity when he is tied up with a length of red rope, watching two very, very hot men make out three feet away from him, dicks out and fucking  _ ready, _ will he bust a nut just  _ thinking  _ about it, fuck, he--)

Xue Yang takes a breath. 

_ “Please.  _ Please. I’m dying here, please.”

“Oooh,” Xingchen drawls. The gleeful little syllable never ends. 

“Touch me. Xingchen. Song Lan.  _ Fuck.”  _

Xiao Xingchen leans back, eyes crinkling in satisfaction. He hasn’t stopped stroking himself for a single second. 

“Zichen. Lube in the box?”

Song Lan fetches the lube from the box. Xue Yang is inches away from screaming when he finally feels hands on his skin, the touch enough to rip a deeply undignified and  _ very _ necessary noise from his throat--Song Lan strokes fingers up his flank, a barely-there, ticklish scrape, and Xue Yang wants to at once arch into it and run while he can. 

He twists for contact. Song Lan pulls his thighs open. His mouth is on the inside of his knee, making its steady way upward and  _ shit, damn _ , yes, there are fingers at the base of his dick and more fingers in his hair--Xingchen, shirtless, yes, yes--and Xue Yang cries out, helpless and barely breathing, when Song Lan kisses the head of his dick, twists a nipple and rubs against his entrance all at the same time. 

“Motherfucking  _ shit!” _

“Filthy,” Xingchen says and bites Xue Yang’s earlobe. Xue Yang turns to glare at him. The gesture is rendered somewhat ineffective by the winded noise he makes when Song Lan finally,  _ finally _ puts a finger in his ass and god, it feels so  _ good  _ to be touched after--Xue Yang buries his face in Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder and bites down, savours the little huff of breath against his ear and the scrape of nails on his back in retaliation, exhales again when Song Lan finally starts to  _ move.  _

“More, Song Lan, Jesus,” he pants into Xingchen’s neck. He can feel Xingchen’s nod and that is hot too, the permission, and  _ then _ there is another finger and Song Lan’s muscular fucking arms working hard to stretch him open and it feels fucking incredible, this. This fullness. This sensation of being  _ surrounded. _

“Yes,” Xingchen answers something Song Lan asks but Xue Yang can’t see. “Just give him a minute.”

“No,” Xue Yang demands. He wrenches himself away from Xiao Xingchen and looks up at Song Lan kneeling above him. “Don’t give me a minute. Give me your  _ dick.  _ Now.”

“Not yet,” Xingchen shakes his head, and Xue Yang whines and squirms and bites his arm when Song Lan’s fingers return to stretch him slowly,  _ slowly,  _ the pace Xiao Xingchen likes and that murders  _ him,  _ agonising. Xue Yang opens his hands, flexes his fingers on his elbows and it pulls on his shoulders, tight and  _ good _ and unfair because he can’t even reach to touch Xiao Xingchen, all he can do is lie here and  _ take it, _ and fuck him if that isn’t very hot and very uncomfortable at the same time. 

It isn’t until an indeterminate amount of time later that Xiao Xingchen nods, lifts Xue Yang’s face from his neck where he pressed all his muffled groans so far, and makes him look up into his gorgeous, heavy lidded eyes. 

“Xue Yang,” Xingchen says. “Zichen will fuck you now, yes? Don’t come until he has.”

“Seriously,” Xue Yang whimpers because his dick is tight and leaking against his stomach and every crook of Song Lan’s fingers makes him want to cry. He imagines his cock inside him, his abdomen brushing against Xue Yang’s straining erection. He imagines  _ not _ coming. “You are so fucking  _ cruel.” _

“But you can do it, can’t you?”

Xue Yang says something that is a garbled mix of what once might have been ‘no’ and ‘fuck you’ and ‘maybe’, and it must be good enough because Xingchen brushes his hair away from his face and presses a kiss against his cheek. 

“I’ll help.”

Xue Yang can’t even begin thinking about  _ that _ too hard before he can feel Xiao Xingchen’s long fucking fingers slide down his damp abdomen, scrape into the pool of precome that smears on it, and clamp around the base of his cock with a force that makes Xue Yang keen into his neck again. 

“Fuck off, Xiao Xingchen,” he pants. Xingchen’s other hand comes up to cradle the back of his head. 

“Zichen.”

Song Lan withdraws his fingers. Xue Yang can hear foil tear as a condom packet is ripped open, and then--and then--

Arms around him. Song Lan leaning his forehead against Xue Yang’s as he folds him in half because he is  _ that _ tall, damn it, and Xingchen’s hand clamping around his dick, the sense of rushing water, the desire to scream.

(He might. He will deny it later, but he might just do that, scream while Xingchen bites his neck and Song Lan grinds into him and cradles him in his arms and holds him up, for Xue Yang has  _ no _ leverage because his arms are  _ bound  _ and--)

“Zichen, are you close?” Xingchen asks and he sounds so breathless, so done, so fucking  _ happy. _ Song Lan grunts affirmative. 

“You’re doing so well,” Xingchen says softly, brushing hair away from Xue Yang’s sweaty forehead. “So beautiful, so good. Look at you.  _ Look _ at you.”

“Stop,” croaks Xue Yang, but doesn’t mean it. Song Lan rolls his hips in an angle that makes him see stars and makes tears leak from the corners of his eyes,  _ Jesus, _ and he is so close, so close, so close, so  _ close. _

“You will wait for Zichen, it’s not long now.”

“I want to,” Xue Yang says, “I want to come, please, I’m  _ dying,  _ Xingchen.”

“Almost. You’re doing  _ so _ well.” 

Song Lan twitches, fists the sheets that tangle around them.  _ Yes, _ Xue Yang thinks,  _ yes. _

Song Lan comes with a wordless shout. 

Xiao Xingchen changes grip and strokes Xue Yang’s dick once, hard. 

Xue Yang comes so fast the edge of his vision goes black. 

It is a gentle floating, after that. 

Xue Yang vaguely registers Xiao Xingchen talking to him, Song Lan kissing his jaw. Their weight disappears, then manifests again by his side, somebody turns him sideways and unpicks the rope that binds him, stretches his arms, massages his hands. 

It feels numb. Good. Tingly. 

Xue Yang shudders and watches Xiao Xingchen crowd Song Lan against the mattress, watches him crook his pretty fingers inside him and shimmy out of his pants, watches him fuck Song Lan gently like a sigh and a caress, slow until Song Lan gets hard again. Song Lan clutches Xue Yang’s hand for dear life. 

After--well. 

After, they fight for dibs on the bathroom. After, they attempt to all crowd into Xiao Xingchen’s tiny shower (mostly successful) and draw lots for cooking responsibilities (unsuccessful) and eat greasy take-out pizza on the sofa, Xingchen’s shirt draped around Xue Yang’s shoulder and Song Lan cocooned into a blanket. 

Xiao Xingchen laughs until tears roll down his stupid, beautiful cheekbones. 

A-Qing arrives home half an hour later, takes one, long look at them, then wrinkles her nose and marches into her room, banging the door shut behind her with emphasis. 

“It doesn’t even smell like sex,” Xingchen remarks, baffled. Xue Yang glances at the purpling mark on his collarbone, Song Lan’s bare feet and the rumpled sheets visible through Xingchen’s half-open door, and snorts. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, go retweet Casey's stuff, yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/rynleaf), leave a kudo, go ham!


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